


Breakfast

by snowspy



Category: Kasabian
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2443724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowspy/pseuds/snowspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom is attempting to make a breakfast for a particularly special day. And failing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast

Tom had been up since the first stroke of sun ray hit the earth this morning. It hadn’t been easy to get up so early, especially for Tom who had always been a late-riser. However today was a special day. Today was the anniversary of the day they finished their first song. It wasn’t their best song, not by artistic standards. They were so young back then, and hadn’t quite found their tune. Compared to that first song, their music now had grown leaps and bounds. Their sound more polished, confident, sophisticated even. But that immature first song, with its easy tunes and adolescent feel, had always occupied a special pedestal in their hearts. For it was the sweet beginning of what was to become an extraordinary journey and an irreplaceable friendship.

For that very reason, Tom had forcefully pulled himself out of his warm bed and his even warmer Serge whose skinny limbs were intricately tangled with his own. Tom planned to cook breakfast for Serge. A cheesy gesture overpromoted by unimaginative rom-coms, perhaps, but Tom still thought it would be nice anyway. After all, Serge was a man of simple pleasures. And this was simple enough for Tom to do without risking any unwanted mess and embarrassing failures.

He’d gone to the shop and got the ingredients he needed. Some eggs, a couple of oranges. Milk. Bacon. Cigarettes (they almost ran out). When he was rambling down the aisle, he chuckled at how domestic it all felt. How very different from their other lives, the ones they lived on stage. Dazzling glory versus calm delight. Thousands of people versus just the two of them. How surreal. Even more surreal was how they got to experience both together. Unseparated. Neither of them were religious, but at that moment, at that thought, Tom found himself thanking whatever force controlling the universe for how lucky he was. How lucky they were.

Serge emerged from their bedroom door while he was unpacking the grocery. His hair was perfectly disheveled, eyelids heavy with sleep, and he was still wearing the same t-shirt from last night. One of Tom’s favourites. A loose dark grey shirt that hanged until Serge’s thighs, framing his slim torso and arms beautifully. It barely covered his arse, and of course he wasn’t wearing any trousers. A picture of gorgeousness, Tom thought and smiled to himself from behind the kitchen counter.

"Morning, Serge!" Tom chirped.

Serge returned the greeting in a slurred form and walked up to the counter. “What are you doing?” he mumbled, his chin in his hands, head slightly tilted. Clearly he wasn’t fully out of his slumber. He’s no better than Tom when it came to waking up early.

"What does it look like I’m doing? Making us breakfast, of course!" He grinned while his hands were busy arranging various food items and utensils in front of him.

"Hmm, that’s nice…" Serge said, half-drifting back to sleep, a sleepy smile on his face. Until two seconds later, when his eyes suddenly snapped open. "Wait, what?" Somehow he was fully alert, his face layered with a mix of surprise and worry.

"I’m making breakfast," Tom repeated with a completely innocent, if slightly confused, expression.

"Tom." Serge started carefully. "You can’t cook." The reason Serge awoke all of a sudden was because the memory of Tom’s last endeavour in the kitchen hit his consciousness. It was disastrous. Tom was never the graceful sort. No, he was all awkward angles and hyperactive limbs. And somehow, his clumsiness was magnified tenfold in small rooms with dangerous tools. The kitchen. Disastrous.

"Whaaat, course I can!" He feigned a hurtful look.

"Don’t you remember what happened last time?" Surely he did, Serge thought. No one could forget that. The whole band fucking remembered.

"Well, that was one year ago, wasn’t it? I’ve improved now." Tom didn’t show any sign of backing down. In fact, he was now cracking eggs into a bowl. Trying to, at least. Serge watched him with a worried face as he hesitantly knocked an egg to the counter edge.

"Tom. Tom, let me do that." Serge finally offered when the egg remained intact after a few unsuccessful contact with the hard surface.

"No no no, I can do it." The egg eventually cracked open, but only because Tom smashed it too hard and the content spilled to the floor. Serge only stared at his friend, quietly baffled and mildly amused.

In the end he did manage to get a couple of eggs to the bowl, though not without including a few extra pieces of eggshell. At what is quite frankly an early stage of the cooking process, the kitchen had already been tainted with a significant mess.

"I’ll clean it up after." Tom said as he poured the batter to a cold frying pan.

"You haven’t turned on the stove." Serge reminded him.

"Oh, right right." Tom was whistling now, blissful in the ignorance of proper cooking methods. He went on to prepare some other stuff. He cut some oranges, searched for the juicer, rummaged the cupboards for some salt and pepper. He actually looked so happy and confident that Serge couldn’t help but be charmed by it, his eyes fixed to every movement that Tom made. Until the smell of something burning reached their noses.

"Shit. Shit shit shit." Tom rushed to turn off the stove and removed the pan. What was supposed to be an omelette turned out to be a charred hard blackish roundish thingy that stuck to the frying pan.

"Aw no," Tom looked at the thing sadly. He was pouting at the thing, as if he was wishing it to turn yellow and edible. He was upset. This was supposed to be a nice breakfast for Serge. A perfect morning that he had been planning for days. And now he’d ruined it.

Serge saw the colour of Tom’s face turn grey. Tom was a cheerful person who went about his days with the sun shining his every step. He didn’t get upset often, but sometimes the strangest little things could turn his mood sour. “Hey, that’s alright. You can make a new one.” Serge tried to sound cheery.

Tom couldn’t. Because the rest of the eggs was now a gooey puddle on the floor as a result of his failed attempts at cracking them open. Tom felt really stupid, and useless. After all the amazing things Serge had done for him, Tom couldn’t even repay him with something as simple as a cooked meal.

He was about to drown deeper in self-pity when he felt Serge’s arms circling his waist from behind.

"Hey," Serge whispered in his ear. "Thank you." Serge wrapped himself tighter around Tom and rest his chin on Tom’s shoulder.

"For what? I burned your food." He was still sulking.

"For trying. It’s the thought that matters, right?" Serge smiled into Tom’s neck, his nose was rewarded with Tom’s scent that he so loved.

"Mmm. I s’pose." Tom resigned a little, though he was still wishing the morning had turned out as he expected.

"Besides," Serge gave Tom a gentle squeeze, "I wanted something else for breakfast." His low gravelly voice was vibrating smoothly very close to Tom’s ears.

"What is it?" Tom lifted his head, a spark of hope. Maybe this morning could still be saved after all. Maybe Serge would ask for something even simpler to eat, that he could actually make. Or at least, serve.

Serge turned Tom to face him and looked straight into the brown eyes. He smiled softly, hands positioned firmly at Tom’s hips, and answered, matter-of-factly, “You.”

Tom felt his inside melt under that gaze, across that smile, and at that answer. Serge leaned in, and Tom closed his eyes, delightfully waiting for that sweet moment when their lips touch, as they did that first time they wrote a song.

Yes, this morning was definitely saved.


End file.
